Guns N' Roses
by Scruff the Rat
Summary: Rocket does not like dealing with kids, especially ones too sweet for his own good. Rocket/Steven friendship. No slash. Rated T thanks to Rocket.


**I've been wanting to write up interactions between these two fandoms for a while. In other words, I own nobody in this oneshot.**

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"Rocky, wait up!"

A cybernetic raccoon in an orange jumpsuit cringed, both at the yell and the nickname. Did he _dare_ face the source of all his day's newly acquired annoyances?

Only if he wanted some peace and quiet for once. Pausing in his steps, he impatiently waits for the sound of sandals tap-slapping against the sandy ground to end beside him, replaced by the light panting of someone small having to run a bit more than expected to catch up.

He cuts the kid off because he's so done with tangents about fry-bits and donuts and parties and whatever else that kid thinks is ever so fan-fucking-tastic that he'd assume anyone would enjoy it.

Rocket does not like dealing with kids, especially ones too sweet for his own good.

Please note, by the way, the use of 'his' in place of 'their'—freakin' open-as-a-book Quill and innocent-as-fuck Groot already validated that over-sweetness doesn't always equate to a shorter lifespan.

That still didn't make the kid any less...annoying. Yes annoying! With his starry eyes and impossibly huge ass smile. His constant optimism and insistence in seeing the best of everyone.

 _Even a miscreation as wretched as you._

Something clutches at Rocket's heart, but he refuses to acknowledge his stinging eyes.

Not here.

Not now.

Not in front of _him._

His sharp intake of air tries to pass as an indignant puff. He can already tell by the worried glance that Steven is nowhere near convinced. "For the last time, I can handle myself. Just go back to your mom-sisters or whatever those chicks are and stay there."

"Rocky—"

He spins around to Death Glare the kid, holding back the ever so tempting snarl building in his throat, his voice a soft yet deathly growl.

"And _stop_ calling me that. I'm not your goddamn pet."

Because anymore of that sweet-talk. Any more of these pretend 'acts of friendship'...

To his surprise, the kid holds his hands up in defense, calm instead of panicked like someone thrice his age would've (should've) been.

"Right, sorry. _Rocket_." Not a drop of sarcasm in his voice. It startles Rocket to no end. "Everyone's worried about you."

Rocket feels his breathing, his own aggression, halt and crash at the statement, that way-too-close-to-home statement.

 _Everyone's worried about you, man._

"You ran off all of a sudden." Not ran _away_ because even someone as innocent as Steven knows that wording would just set off another round of angry alien cusses.

Rocket still flinches.

 _You high-tailed out of there for no reason._

Oh no. Steven's twiddling his fingers and looking down now. He looks so guilt-ridden, the sight cuts the bounty hunter deeper than any Half World-inflicted wound.

"Was it something I said?"

 _No. It's not what you said. Everything you say is all sweet and perfect and nice and pure and FLARK why do you keep opening your heart to me? Don't you get that I don't deserve any of that, that I'm a cold ruthless fuck-up?_

It still amazed him that Quill and the others hadn't tossed his sorry tail off the Milano yet.

 _And you know what else? No matter how many times I yell at you to go away, how many times I half-consider freaking shooting you then wantin' to turn the gun on myself for thinkin' that...no matter how much I show you the worst part of me, you always came back with a smile and a hand for me to take, acting like everything's gonna be okay._

A voice shouts his name but it sounds muffled, shuffling its way to his ears as though the air were molasses. Rocket jolts back to reality, finding himself on his knees, gun fallen to the side, once he realizes he lost himself in a self-deprecating monologue.

Again.

The procyon grips his head, deep enough (he hopes) for the claws to pierce the skin. Anything to distract him from the chubby angel wrapping his arms around him, the fabric of the star-motif shirt soft against Rocket's cheek and warm from the child's body heat.

"Petie and Groot told me."

Of course they did. _'Those flarken idiots,'_ Rocket mused with a hardly suppressed groan. ' _Once I get out of this damn kid's hold, those two will die.'_ Slowly and painfully as possible.

Rocket already moved to rip Steven's arms off of him, grab the gun, and march back to the beach house—

"I'm only one of me, too."

Only for guilt to derail him once again.

The Crystal Gems already shared with the Guardians the tale of how Rose brought Steven into the world.

Of all the dangers Rocket anticipated when his team came to Earth after discovering the Infinity Stones to be of Gem origin and Thanos' past attempt at alliance with Homeworld, coming to this backwater planet to warn the CG's of possible invasion by their former home and the Mad Titan...

Feeling his heart crumble over and over again had not been one of them.

Because how the hell would you ever expect a twerp with no sense at all, always able to look towards the future with a smile, surrounded day in and day out by too much love to measure, to understand the loneliness and lack of belonging caused by a unique existence?

You don't.

You learn to be thankful and happy, take the friendship being offered to you.

Rocket let his head sag against Steven's shoulder with a resigned sigh. This raccoon would always be awkward with emotional moments like this. "Kid, you've gotta stop being so cheery and nice to everybody. You're gonna get yourself in trouble one day."

A childish hum echoed against the top of the raccoon's head. "Maybe but...I could say the same about you being grumpy and mean to everybody."

That gentle retort got Rocket chuckling, genuinely much to his own surprise. If he hadn't known Steven's sugary personality beforehand, he would've thought the kid were being a smartass.

Furry sinewy arms tried to envelop the child as best as possible. Callous clawed hands gingerly patted Steven's back the same way a big brother would comfort (or in this case acknowledge comfort from) their younger sibling.

No words needed to be said.

Rocket let the affection last for a bit longer before reeling his hands off and leaning back in Steven's hold to signal this hug to end. Rocket is still Rocket after all.

"Alright, alright, ya made yer point, Sweetstack. I'm worth bein' sappy over. Can I get ya home now before Mama Bird comes flapping in harpin' why we took so long gettin' back?"

Steven simply giggles, starting to get used to the raccoon's sarcasm, as he lets go and gestures his fellow Space Buddy to the beach house butler-style. "After you, sir."

A roll of the eyes and holster of a massive gun over the shoulder divert attention from Rocket's faint endearing smile.

 _'_ _Woo boy, kid, you are_ un _believable.'_

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 **I'm starting to like the idea of Big Brother Rocket. :)**


End file.
